I See You
by AlwaysEatTheRude21
Summary: She was different. God... She was different. He could see her in the darkness, in the mists of fire. He. Could. See. Her. She was the embodiment of everything he had missed, everything he didn't know he had missed, of untold beauty in wild abandonment. How... How could he see her? Matt/Fem!Harry.
1. Prologue

_~PROMPT~_

 _Until you stumbled into my life, all I could see was death and hell. Then you came in like a whirlwind, twisting and twirling and dashing colour back into my world._

* * *

Matt Murdock quietly shut his office door behind him with a hushed click of the lock slinking into place. Shuffling over to his desk, laying his walking aid against the wall to his right, he edged around his desk as he undid his coat buttons and unwrapping the thick scarf from around his neck. Sliding into his seat, he had to fight back from sinking into his chair, sighing heavily and rolling his neck to ease the tension that seemed to be permanently seizing his shoulder muscles these days. It had been a long road to where he was now, and he wasn't just thinking about this office to the small and unknown law firm him and his long term friend Foggy Nelson ran, or even his small and often more empty than not apartment in Hells kitchen, or even spending yet another winter in the same city he had been born in, doing the same thing he had been doing since the purchase of this office.

This winter was bad, one of the worst Hells kitchen had been through in many a year. Howling winds, torrents of snow, icy roads and lip chapping and sharp intakes of breathes. Unfortunately, it reminded Matt of one winter in particular, the very same winter he had lost his father so long ago. That was the winter he had learned of loss, of grief and madness that could only come from the devastation of a loved one's passing, your only loved one. That was the winter that had shaped him into the man he was now, for better or for worse, some days being harder to distinguish which one he was anymore.

Would, if he was still around, his father proud of him? Or would he be shaking his head in disappointment? Did it matter? No. He was on this path now and had been since that fateful day. Maybe it was fate, maybe he was always meant for this path of life he had stumbled on. He was the way he was and there was nothing he could do about it, no matter how many times he prayed in the dark hours of the night to a god who did not answer him. In all honesty, if only to admit it to himself, he wasn't sure he would choose any other way of life if he was given the option. What he did, what he wanted to do, it was ingrained in him, in his soul, in his DNA.

Still, looking back, thinking of the boy he used to be, so full of hope and curiosity and zest for life, it was odd and disorientating to try and link that child to the man he had become. His hope was like a candle trapped under a glass bowl, slowly flickering in and out of focus, one minute flaring to life, the next gone to nothing but a cindering wick. His curiosity had been replaced with disheartening knowledge.

Knowledge of the men and women who actually did exist in the world, killers, slavers, beaters, liars, cheaters. The list was endless and still, despite all this, every time he ran into another one in his... Extracurricular duties, it still hurt to see it, to know these people lived and breathed in the same city he did, that children and innocent people did. They had no worries, no problems, no conscious with what they were doing to others and the world around them.

His zest for life had been exchanged for the addictive adrenaline pump that thrummed through his veins and muscles when he fought, when he chased down another criminal, when his fists went flying and the passing thought that this could be it for him fluttered across his mind. How had that happy boy, so full and thirsting for life turn into this shaded and depressed man who sat at his desk now? Life. Life had done this and like everything else, in reality, it was a double sided blade that swooped fast and cut deep.

Hells kitchen, New York, America, damn, the entire world had stopped running on hope, revolution and innovation years ago. Now it ran on poisonous hatred, avarice, and injustice. Injustice... The one thing that kept him climbing out of bed in the morning and slipping into the night when the sun sank, the thing that kept him going against all odds. If he didn't do anything, if he didn't stand up and take action, who would? As long as he could, as long as hatred and injustice and every putrid fraction of humanity climbed into Hells kitchen streets like a sewage break, he would carry on, he would fight. He had to.

For the few ones who were good, for his friends, for himself, because he wasn't sure what he would do without the fight any longer, who he would be and that frightened him the most. _Be careful of the Murdock boys, they got the devil in 'em._ And maybe he did and maybe he didn't, but if he did, if that dark part of him that enjoyed the things he did for another reason but the satisfaction of helping, then surely it was there for a reason, for this reason. To aim it at something that could do good, would do good. He had to believe that. The alternative did not bode well for him, because devils only belong in one place... Hell, and funny enough, that was where he lived. Life and all its fucking irony.

In a way, he lived for it, the fight, the heart pounding momentum of pure action and bloody knuckles, the blows, the bruises, the split lips and busted noses. It made him feel... Alive. Yes, that was the right word. Alive, when he fought, when he saved people, not only did he get that weight lifted from his shoulders from actually helping someone, he felt alive in the glowing moments that followed. His breathing seemed harsher, fresher. His heart, he could feel it as much as he could hear it ring in his ear drums, singing a tune of life only he could hear. His body ached in that oh-so-good way, the way that only two things could accomplish. He idly wondered if that was what his father felt when he stepped out of the ring, or if he was so dysfunctional that this feeling only crashed upon him like a tidal wave, and him alone in the world.

But in that glow, in that tiny piece of heavenly light that shined down upon him in those nanoseconds, it always disintegrated around him like glitter when he realized how very, very alone he was. Maybe there was no fresh breath, no frantically pumping heart, no glorious ache, no heaven light that brushed across his skin like silk. Maybe he was just mad, down right insane and scrambling for any answer that validated what he did in the twilight as the stars and moon as his only witnesses.

He was as bound as much as the many people he had left outside the police station, bleeding and unconscious, to get arrested and placed in jail where they belonged. Even now, in this office, in his suit and surrounded by a familiarity of routine and work, real lawful work, he could feel the chains encased around his neck, tightening and threatening to strangle him, the iron ball at his feet, making his footsteps drag.

Justice was his addiction, the law and his mask his enslavers. It was a thin line to tread, a fifty-foot drop to cement if he faltered in a singular step of the dance he was swaying to. One law, one break in the chain, one slip and he would be no better than the people he hunted. In fact, he might have been worse, there was nothing quite like hypocrisy after all. How could he fight for justice, for the right way, for people who had no voice when he was going out there doing as much damage as the criminals did, if he lied, fought, taunted or killed like they did? He couldn't. So he would dance, he would walk that tightrope and he would pray, by god would he pray, that he never fell.

He could almost laugh at himself. Almost. He was such a strange man, divided, a coin with two sides. One side was Matt, the geeky law student that worked with his best friend, paid his bills on time, lived alone, drank at the local dive that was dubiously still in business, the blind man people bumped into, half yelling before apologizing profusely when they finally clocked onto his dark glasses and walking stick. Safe, predictable, warm and friendly Matt. Scoffing to himself, Matt reached up and snatched his glasses off, flinging them onto the table to rub tiredly at his eyes, not caring where they landed. There first appointment of the day wasn't for another hour.

On the other side was Murdock, the fighter, the bloody bared teeth of a half-mad dog that couldn't stop snarling, couldn't stop running, couldn't stop hunting. Murdock had no one, he had no friends, no one knew what he did in the dead of the night, they never could know, and so he was left to walk this dark path alone. Murdock didn't drink, he sent his fists sailing and his legs swooping into a kick. People didn't apologize to Murdock, they shot their guns, they strangled, they bit and they tried to put him down and out for good. Murdock was dangerous, isolated and so full of anger. And yet, the real punch line to the joke of his entire life, Matt and Murdock was one and the same, he felt all they did, he did all they did, he enjoyed all they did, because they were him, they were just the two very different, very abstract lives he was balancing and living on a needle's edge.

The truth, that bitter pill to swallow, that itch in the back of your throat, that thing you refused to see no matter how much it was shoved into your face, the truth that Matt knew better than many others was the world was burning long, long, long before he lost his sight and could only see the world in those horrendous flickers and licks of hellish flames in red and orange he did see. The world was on fire, it was burning to a crisp and turning to ashes on their tongues and no one, but him, seemed to be trying to stop it, to right it, to fix the problems they had caused.

And as this happened, as the world crumbled, where the hell was god? Why wasn't he doing anything? Why did he not answer? Matt had always had problems with his faith, in keeping and following it throughout his whole life, but now... Now he wasn't so sure god even existed. How could he when the world was so fucked? He had seen too many things, done too many things, felt too many things and made people feel too many things to put his faith, his soul blindly into some unseen force. Yet, he still went to church, he still confessed, he still prayed. As he had said, he was a strange man indeed, a tangle of thorns that didn't want to be untangled, or shouldn't be tried at least without the right safety equipment present. Faith, his faith, gnawed at him as much as what he did in the night chewed on his core.

In a world that consistently said yes, to greed, to wrath, to pride, to murder, to everything and anything that would garner more power your way, in a world that the powerful sucked out life and fed upon the poor and weak like the leeches they were, Matt felt like he was the only one willing to stand up and shout out no. And with that shout, with that war cry of strong morals, Matt was sure one day, maybe tomorrow, maybe in years to come, he would have to pay the price for that with his life. Weirdly, he was okay with that, if it meant that he was one of the few who had done something with his life, had done good things for people who deserved it. He would rather die young, alone and bloodily than old, wealthy and thin-lipped if it gave him that at least.

If he could do that, then maybe when he got to the golden gates he could look upon them and not feel like a complete bastard and useless stain on the world. If only heaven would be so kind, if it was anything like the waking world, he wouldn't put it past god to make him blind even in death. Would he see heaven through blazing flames? He hoped not, if he ever got there that was.

He wasn't an aberration, but there was no running from the fact that he was abnormal. He enjoyed plenty of mundane things that he was sure many other citizens of Hells kitchen enjoyed. He liked lazy days in bed, he liked the feel of freshly washed linen against his skin, he liked the smell of honey and lilacs, he liked hanging out with his friends, laughing and joking as they swigged back beer the barmaid had eerily not shown the bottle of, he liked red wine more than white, his favourite childhood book was treasure island and sometimes, very rarely and as much as he would deny it to anyone who asked, he would listen to a Dr. Phil episode or two.

He just simultaneously enjoyed things that were not quite so normal. Like trying to trap and stop the slaving market down at the shipping bay. Matt groaned at this thought and did sink further into his chair this time. He had been trying to put a stop to that for nearly six months now. But no matter how many goons he had taken out, more would crop up, doubling like microbes. Goons, that was who they were, the lap dogs that did the bigger man's dirty work. If he was ever going to put a final end to it, he would need to know who these men answered to, who pulled their strings.

Yet, he could get none of them to talk so far, or if they did, they only led him on a goose chase or worse, a trap. No, whoever was doing this liked to be kept in the shadows, the faceless man that no one spoke of. Still, he went down there every night, he fought and he interrogated. It was all very reminiscent of Hansel and Gretel with their bread crumbs, but with guns, shipping crates and splatters of blood. Only there was no gingerbread house to find, no wicked witch, just smoke and mirrors and dead fucking ends. It was enough to give him a headache just thinking about it.

But that could all come later when he could afford to think about it when he was in the security of his own home and not at work. There was a time for action and then there was a time for drink, and god did he want a drink right now. He had barely gotten three hours of sleep last night, and even less the night before that. He was running on zero and that wasn't going to change anytime soon. Sleep refused to stay in his iron grip for long, leaving him to wake up more often than not in sweats and jittering jerks, as if ready for a blow heading his way.

He never remembered his dreams, always just a blank abyss that seemed to swallow him when his eyes did shut, giving him the peace and rest he could not find when he was awake. However, he almost envied other people, those fantastic dreams of imagination and want. He wondered if he did dream, or if he already did and could remember it, when he blinked awake, what would be housed in his subconscious? Better yet, it might be best he didn't know that, half afraid of what the answers would be to that loaded question. Sometimes it was better not to know.

If he could dream, would he dream in colour, the same multi-shades he had taken away from him after his loss of sight? That would be... Nice. More than nice. He missed a lot of things, but colours, those vibrant flashes of life, was what he missed. And among that tirade of colours, he missed green the most. The dark moss of the woods, the hazy green of the grass to the park his father used to take him to, the yellow-tinted green of the sunlight filtering through the top foliage of trees. Green in all its magnificence. If colours meant and reflected feelings and powers, if red was hell and anger and pain, then green, to Matt, was life in hailstorm and movement and peace. He really did miss that colour, and over time his memory had dulled and failed him and he could no longer bring that image up quite like he had used to. But he would never see it again, he would never be able to view it one last time, he would never get a refresher of it. Life was a heartless bitch in some aspects. No. In most aspects.

It was easier to find contentedness and happiness in ignorance and misery than it was in anything else. For once, for one little thing, Matt wanted to take the easier route and be okay with it. So, he would do just that. Paint on a smile, carry on walking tall, work and relax and hope beyond hope no one looked too closely at him and saw the cracks in his meticulously constructed façade he painted on every day. God knows what blackness they would see laying underneath the slithers if they did. For Matthew Murdock, it was easier pretending to be happy then it was to actually be such.

And really how was that a problem? They all put on their masks to the world, didn't they? From mothers to paramedics, they always construed a falsehood to the world, a mirage of the perfect life because god forbid anyone is truly honest and show the shadier sides of their lives to anyone but themselves. Every single one of them was simply golden plated, hiding the poor and soggy clay underneath, showing what they were really made of. It's just how things worked when you reached adulthood, inhibitions set in like fungus and your own ego took a hold like stone walls. Really, one of the worst things to themselves, what everyone believed, was someone else viewing you as weak.

Maybe it was a remnant from evolution, a little tick in their DNA from the days they were nothing but animals in the woods. Only the strongest survived, and the strongest in this day and age would and is the person with the picture perfect life. They were the thing of envy, of cross-eyed bewilderment that others wanted to covet, only there was no such thing as the perfect life. Matt knew that better than most.

Look at his life, for example, the one no one saw. He had too many war wounds, both physically littering his scarred body and the worse kind, the ones you couldn't see, the ones marring his psyche and emotional stability. And what did he have to count for it, to prove it had all been worth it in the end? Nothing. He had no won wars to hold under his belt, no settled scores from grudges long past due. Nothing at all to show for what he had done, what he would continue to do, because if he did stop now, then that really did mean it was all for nothing.

But he could see the end he was working towards, Hells kitchen in glorious equality. Where mothers wouldn't be afraid to take their children out, even during the day, where shops didn't get broken into on a daily basis, running people out of their livelihoods, where there was no influx and crowded hospitals of injured residents, where the old didn't lock themselves away in fear of being mugged. That was the true seed that kept him going, the goal he needed to get to. Matt had ambition, stubbornness and a hardy resolve few could match, but most of all, despite the lack of real sight most had, he had something better, more important, rarer. Matt Murdock had vision. The vision of what Hells kitchen could be given the right guidance. And that was worth more than any scar, both mentally and physically, he could ever attain.

And if he couldn't sleep, when he tossed and turned in bed in restlessness, and if he had trouble waking in the morning from lack of drive, then that was the smallest price he was willing to pay the pied piper. His sleep was nothing but a blip on the radar in the grand scheme of things, something easily sacrificed and brushed off. Criminals and injustice didn't sleep, and so it would be, by the tango he was dancing with the former two, neither would he. Rest could come later, if later ever came and he didn't die in this fight he was currently partaking in.

Perhaps it was best he couldn't sleep well, that he held himself back from the throws of reflection and relaxation. Relaxed people, content people became complacent, they grew unaware and un-phased of the blaring signs that herald an oncoming problem. What was it that nun had told him back in the orphanage? Tough winds made tough men with tuneful souls. Matt could have laughed heartily, by now, after everything and still feeling like he was just beginning, that he was on the precipice of his journey through life, he was sure his soul could sing with the best of the churches choirs.

Still, if he could give up his 'tuneful' soul, give up this quest he was on, this life he led, he was sure there was only one thing he would swap it all for. One more day with his family, with his breathing and pink-faced father, sitting around that old rickety table in their cramped kitchen, munching on yesterday's leftovers and having the small T.V rattling on about the latest boxing match for background noise as his father helped him with his homework. It was sad really, how ready he would be to make that deal if it was ever handed to him, how he would give up all could be's, what if's and maybes for one singular, spectacular and lovely mundane and monotonous yesterday, if only to see his father's face one last time instead of the bruised and bloody mess of his dead body that his mind threw to the forefront when his father did cross his mind.

Jack Murdock, son, father, boxer, friend, fraud and everything in between. Even dead, he had a lot to answer for. He was Matt's biggest betrayer, leaving him, dying on him, forcing him to be alone as he grew up in an orphanage with no family, no friends, no connection. Despite everything, Matt did hate his father a little bit for dying the way he had, he couldn't help not to, but he kept that part locked down and away tightly, never to see the light of day or to grace his mind. As much as he was his greatest hurt, his father, he was also his greatest light. Jack Murdock had shown him what it meant to be a good person, to never stray from your morals, to never give up or give in even if the crowds were cheering against you and the ref was counting down to a K.O. Maybe being a complicated man, having a duality to them was a Murdock thing as much as the darkness that was housed inside them.

Pushing up from his chair, tired and weary of the track his own swirling thoughts was dragging him down, Matt straightened out his tie and fixed his suit jackets buttons, running the pads of his fingertips across the fabric to make sure it was not wrinkled or crumpled in any way. Nothing gave tiredness away than haggard clothing, and he could really do without the questions Foggy would through his way. His troubled thoughts matched with his dismal self-esteem, what a catch of a crippled man he made. As if he didn't already have enough stacked against him in the romantic department already, though, it wasn't like he was actually willing or fully looking for one. No, he was best on his own. He had long accepted that fact.

Pocketing his glasses in the inside pocket of his blazer, seeing no point in wearing them when only Foggy would be haunting the office for another fifteen minutes before their first client came in, Matt made his way to the wall, plucking up his stick and made his way to the door, sighing heavily and rolling his shoulders, steeling himself before he reached out and snapped the door open, pushing everything away and getting ready for a day of work.

Today would be busy, not with the numbers of people who visited them, who he could count on one hand, but the kind that came with the stories they sprouted. The stories of unemployment, bad luck, even worse treatment, and severe weather. Foggy had been dubious of taking these people on, but helping was helping no matter how small and Matt had won the argument in the end like he so often did. So help they did, and as the days passed, word began to spread and their little start-up law firm began to take shape, as slow as business was, it was still a start.

Coming into the waiting area, or the space him and Foggy had designated as the waiting area but was really the room that split their offices, a quick but steady procession of raps against their door startled him slightly. Which was odd in itself, if the person had come up the hallway, he should have heard them before they even came close to the door. It wasn't often someone got the jump on him, so rare it was hard to remember the last time it had happened, but Matt shook it off as being lost in his own world. Their heartbeat was steady and strong, even but faster than most, likely someone small. A woman he would hazard a guess.

"Hey man, what are you doing lurking in here? We have a busy day ahead, this was your idea after all. Are you going to answer the door or not... Wait, never mind. I've got this Matt, you may as well head back to your office... And lock yourself in."

Ah. The first client. That explained it. The woman, a Harriet Potter, or Harry as Foggy Called her, had come in on one of the rare days Matt had been off. From what Foggy had told him, she didn't need much help, just with settling her estates back in England and moving her accounts over to America for her big and permanent move over to Hells kitchen. Foggy had told him he could handle all the transactions and had been for the month she had been their client. By the minute pick up in Foggy's own heartbeat, the smell of salt from slight perspiration tickling Matt's nose, he knew why now. Harriet was pretty, or a total hotty as Foggy would say. This time, Matt did laugh. Some things never changed, for which he was thankful.

Foggy tried to usher him along, but Matt refused, fighting back with taps of his stick on Foggy's legs. Finally, the shorter man gave up, muttered something about Matt's 'goddess radar' and dragged himself to the door with exaggerated movements that spoke more of playful banter than actual exasperation, to which Matt chuckled. The fact of the matter was Matt was bored, and left alone in his office with nothing but his mind to keep him company seemed to be the worst option he could take, knowing his thoughts would turn dark. So stay he would, and who knows? Maybe he could get a good laugh or two from embarrassing Foggy in front of this woman he obviously found attractive. A win-win situation.

Matt heard the brass crank on brass as Foggy turned the door nob, the squeak of wood sliding on linoleum as the door swung open, the woman's heartbeat growing a fraction louder now she was closer, and the smell of... Lilacs and honey to flutter against Matt's senses as the small breeze slipped into the room from the open door. The smell was delicate, strong but soft at the same time, not a perfume or body wash or deodorant, no, even in them Matt could still smell the chemicals even if they claimed to be a hundred percent naturally resourced. This smell was natural, a pure aroma that came off the woman's skin and blood, who he subsequently couldn't see, or more accurately, get a better grasp of with his other four senses, for Foggy was in the way.

"Hey Harry, you're early aren't you? I thought you were only going to quickly pop in to see if everything was in order. There isn't something I missed is there? I tell you if it's that... G.G bank again who write letters, I mean who writes letters by hand anymore? Anyway, if it's them I'm really going to put them in their place this time."

The two must have gotten along, for the shuffle of cotton and the breezy air bending around them could let Matt tell, and see the way he saw, Foggy bend down and hug the smaller woman, a hug she returned as she chuckled before she pulled back, Still not letting Matt get a hold on the basic print of what she looked like.

"No, no nothing like that Foggy. I just came over to say thank you, I'm not even here to check things over, I'm sure you've done a fantastic job. Oh, that reminds me... Erm, do you mind If I come in for a minute or two?"

"Oh, sure! Come on in."

And then Foggy stepped aside and with a sweeping gesture of his arm, beckoned her in, and as Matt turned his head in the direction of the woman, to Harry, for the first time, letting his senses splinter out, his breath caught in his throat as his eyes landed on her. Time seemed to freeze, his blood stilled, his mind came to a stumbling halt and all he could do was look.

Her clothes were still that horrid flame and flutter he always saw, or pictured, everything around her the same, Foggy the same, nothing had changed. But she was different. God... She was different. He could see her in the darkness, in the mists of fire. He. Could. See. Her. She was young, barely twenty-two by the look of it, but it didn't matter, he could see. He could see the pale snow ivory of her skin. Her face and neck, stopping when her shirt covered the rest, her bare hands with long and delicate piano fingers, the same colouring as her face and neck. He could see the flush on her cheeks, petal soft and hazy at the apples and sharp swerve of her cheek bones. The rosy pink of her bitten lips, full and upturned in a dimpled and impish grin as she smiled widely at Foggy, teeth straight and white. Round silver glasses perched on her slightly upturned and button nose. He could see the shine and deep blue haze of her ebony hair, a mass of curls that danced down and fluttered in a wild mane to her waist.

He could see her eyes. Green, so very, very green. Green in every shade he had missed and never seen before, so bright and alive with vivacious fire they glimmered. He could see her, true and real and god, he hadn't taken a breath in what felt like a lifetime. She was the embodiment of everything he had missed, everything he didn't know he had missed, of untold beauty in wild abandonment. How... How? How could he see her?

He was trapped in his sense of sight, something that hadn't happened since before he had lost it. So focused on that sense that his others, while still being as strong as they always had been since the accident, got pushed to the back, to nothing but background noise as he stood there and stared, not moving, not breathing, not thinking, just looking. Like a moth to a flame, trapped in its fixation, he was just as helpless as that poor moth before it got burnt. He couldn't turn away. He didn't want to turn away. He was seeing, he was seeing her and he didn't want to move his gaze in fear that he would look back and this had all been his imagination. Was he still in bed back at home? Was this what a dream was? It felt real, it had to be real, he didn't have the imagination to think of this.

"Oh, hello. I didn't know Foggy had company. I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

Matt didn't answer, just stared, even with knowing the woman was speaking to him. Instead, he smiled broadly, half bewildered and half-crazed broken laughter coming and bubbling up his throat. He could hear the scuffle as Foggy turned to him, both waiting, and all he could do was laugh, nearly on the verge of crying in truth, the stinging in his eyes giving that away, despite knowing no tears would fall.

"You'll have to excuse him, Harry. He doesn't mean to stare, he's blind. Matt, Jesus, say something, don't just laugh. Honestly, this is why I deal with the clients and lock him in his office. Matt? You in there buddy?"

Matt jolted out of his stupor, wringing his hands around his walking stick as he clasped it tightly to his front, hoping the rod could ground him to the earth, because he could swear here was no ground beneath his feet. He began stuttering as he stumbled forward, grimacing when his leg knocked into a chair he would have normally sensed, making him force himself to turn away from the first person he had seen in over two decades, grappling with his stick to try and balance himself as he shuffled around the chair and made his way to Foggy's side.

"Matt. Matt Murdock. Sorry... I just... Late night last night and early morning, they're not the best for my manners or, as it seems, my verbal communication skills."

Matt swallowed deeply as he came to a stop beside Foggy, forcing his stare to just filter to her face and not meet her eyes, not to take in the green he so wanted to. He down right refused to put his glasses on, his red tinged glasses which would obscure the colours and face that he could see. This woman, this Harriet Potter... This miracle that would barely reach his shoulder if he stood by her, had done the impossible. Like a whirlwind she had danced in with no warning and graced him with sight, with colours, with a piece of himself he never thought he would get back. And while it was only her he could see, he couldn't and wouldn't bring himself to complain at the view.

"No need to apologize, if I wake in the morning without a good ol' cup of tea to greet me, well, there's hell to pay for the rest of the day. Oh right, the reason I came! Well, here."

Harry delved into her jacket's inner pocket, he could see her hand disappear into the flames and hear leather crinkle as she wiggled the appendage around, bringing out two slips of paper by the slight rustle that followed, handing only one over to Foggy. However, he couldn't stop himself from looking at the scar on her forehead, the lone freckle on her left cheek, or trying to count her eyelashes. She looked so dignified, small but proud.

But she felt so raw, so irrevocably changing and powerful like a hurricane twirling around the room, the flames around her, the red seemingly dancing around her like a torrent of wind and she was the source, something he could see now that he was closer. See. God, that was a funny thing to think after so long. How long had he hoped for this moment, prayed when he was a kid? And even though it was all focused in on this little woman who smiled so brightly, he thought she might blind him... Again, he felt giddy. Breathing had not been this hard since that thug had broken four of his ribs and he had to bind them himself in the security and secrecy of his own home.

"This... Harry, this is not the price I stated! This is way, way, way too much!"

Harry, this marvellous and magnificent wonder of a phenomenon gave a floral-esque chuckle at Foggy's indignation. If you could count a chuckle as anything floral like, it would have been this woman's laughter.

"Don't be stupid Foggy. That isn't the check for my own bill. That's... Well, an old lady down at the apartment complex I live by, she was going to be evicted and the roof had been causing her trouble by leaking all over her flat, sorry, forgot you're American, apartment. Anyway, long story short, she told me what you guys did for her, and without payment and well... See that check as an investment. A business like this, one that helps the little folk and doesn't ask for anything in return, I see that as something I want to invest in. Here's the check for my bill. Don't worry, it's not like it was hard earned money, just cash passed down from an old family member and if you don't want it, I could always take it back."

Harry handed over the other check to Foggy but held her hand out for the other check he was still staring at. Foggy didn't waste time as he shoved both checks into his pocket and laughed heartily, shaking his head, Matt could tell by the way the air whipped around him.

"Well if it comes from some dead old person, who am I to say no? I knew there was a reason I liked you. Well, welcome to being Nelsons and Murdock's first investor. Feel free to visit any time, I'm sure we'll have the water cooler running by, oh, summer next year."

Harry gave one of those laughs again, and Matt tried to memorize it, tried to imprint it in his brain along with her face, grin and colours she brought with her.

"Summer next year? Well, chop chop Mister. Nelson, that's a tight schedule you're running. Well, sorry to just drop by and leave, but I have a busy day ahead, so thank you for all your help and keep doing what you're doing."

Matt was still too busy staring, even as she smiled at both him and Foggy and turned to leave, only coming to the moment when he realized she was already halfway out the door with no signal of stopping. Before he could stop himself, or reign his tongue in, he was shouting at her back.

"Will I see you again?"

Will I see you again? What a funny set of words for a blind man to use. But with her, or more accurately, when looking at Harry, he wasn't blind, he could see her, and he didn't want that to go away, not so soon after having it given to him. Matt had half the mind of following her, never mind not knowing who she was apart from her name and not knowing where she was going, if only to find out how she had done this, what made her so different, what made her so... Special that he could see her. That a man who had been blind for twenty years could see her truly.

Had he finally lost his marbles? But by god almighty, when she turned and looked over her shoulder, hand resting on the door handle, grinning at him with that wonder-struck smile, he didn't even care to find out how or why this was happening or happened. He just wanted it to continue.

"Hells Kitchen doesn't seem the biggest of places, I'm sure I'll run into either of you sooner or later. Thanks for everything Mister. Nelson, Mister. Murdock. I hope you have a good day."

And then she was gone, closing the door behind her with an ominous click, bang and a little wave, taking the colour with her, taking the life with her. Matt could only fall back into the hellish abyss he had lived in since a child, no colour or flavour apart from those blood flames that burned around him. Once again, Matthew Murdock was left to stare into the hellish flames... Alone.

He sort of felt like he had when he had been a little boy, losing his sight for the first time. That panic of unknown bearing down upon you, that great loss, that heartbreak of not knowing if you would ever see it, or anything again. It was hard to explain what he felt in that moment, looking blankly where Harry had been, Foggy at his side. But then again, the most sincere of feelings and emotions couldn't be dulled down to the simplicity of words. It made those feelings lose impact.

This time, however, Matt was well aware of movement to his left and didn't falter a single twitch when Foggy patted him on the shoulder, snorting slightly through his nose which indicated a smile and held back laughter. Matt was proven right when he began to speak.

"I don't know what's up with you, but you've lost your touch. Mark the day down my friend, you found the hot girl like you always do, but the hot girl didn't pounce on you."

Foggy playfully jostled his shoulder as he finally let the laugh free and Matt joined in, reaching up to pat the hand on his shoulder before walking away towards the door Harry had just left through. Reaching into his pocket, Matt slid his glasses on and as he did so, built himself back up, steeled his spine and pushed down this weird and wondrous encounter until later, when he could really ponder over it.

"Come on, we don't have another meeting until two hours from now. Why don't we head out and grab some breakfast?"

"Now this is why I agreed to be your partner in this endeavour Matt, where else would I get food breaks between every meeting? What do you feel like, Street vendor? Dennie's Diner? They do these amazing waffles with blueberries and this syrup they swear is strawberry, but I know it's not-"

And as the two left out the door, locking up behind them, chatting amicably between the two, Matt's mind was still trapped on what had just taken place in their ransack of an office. He had seen for the first time in years. And when he got home that night, broken and hurt and aching in that pleasant way after a good fight, when he had cleaned up the mess and the blood and stitched himself back together, when he collapsed back onto his large bed and oddly fell asleep without much of a fight, he dreamt.

He dreamt in vivid greens, fresh snow whites, dusky pinks and ebony blues and blacks.

* * *

 **A.N:** Well, I'm back after a long and unexpected break. To be honest, I've just started university and it took me a while to adjust to balancing everything up. So, hopefully, and fingers crossed, no more unexpected breaks. Sorry for those I've made wait, but hopefully, this made up for that.

 **IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ!:** This fic, if I do carry it on, is going to be a selection of prompts but linked together into a storyline format. So, if you feel like it, or want to, give us a prompt (It could be dialogue, an object, even a lyric from a song) for the following chapters in a review or P.M and I'll try my best to work it in. To be frank, I'm not sure how I really feel about this chapter, one minute I like it, the next I'm not too happy with it. However, because I've not updated for a while I thought I would give this a shot, as I had promised a Matt/Fem!Harry fic and didn't want to spend another month just procrastinating over it.

 **Frank Castle/Fem!Harry:** This fic is in the works, but will be a lot like this one, a selection of prompts that congregate and fit together into one story. And like this one, if you want to read this fic that is, if you fancy dropping me a prompt to get my fingers typing, it would be much appreciated!

 **Purple Haze:** Ah, for my followers who read my other fics, or are patiently waiting for Purple Haze to be updated, the wait is over... Sort of. I've fixed up my updating schedule, and after the first chapter of my Frank Castle/Fem!Harry, Purple Haze will definitely be the next thing to be updated. I'm just trying to iron out a few parts and fix a few bits of the next chapter.

 **Counting Cards:** This is a tricky situation. I started writing this fic, a Wesley/Fem!Harry, when I got a review asking if I had ever read an Oreo crust crumbling. Because I really, really like this pairing, I checked out the fic. However, I really noticed the similarities to what I had been planning and what this brilliant fic had already done. So, I came to a bit of a stalemate, not wanting to tread on anyone else's fanfic, as I like to be original as best as I can when writing fanfiction, and simply losing inspiration to carry on my own.

But all is not lost, I will be coming up with another fic, with the same pairing, and likely in the same format as this fic and the Frank Castle one, but I need to work it out, as I've already got the first chapter prompts for both the other fics, and have none for Counting Cards. So, please drop a prompt or a request, the sooner more come in, the sooner I can get to carry on this fic, as I really don't want to ditch it fully.

Inane rambling over.

Once again, I hope you all enjoyed this, and if you could, drop a review! They feed my muse.

Until next time!- **AlwaysEatTheRude21**


	2. Attraction, Armageddon and Apples

_PROMPT: I'd like for Matt to run into Harry by complete accident, or for someone to plough Matt down on the street and Harry see it and lose it, tear into them as only a Gryffindor could._

 _So, here's to you Tsume Yuki, I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

~Chapter two~

 _~Attraction, Armageddon and Apples.~_

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. That was the popular saying, wasn't it? But how could one tell beauty from plainness when eye's and sight were taken out from the equation? For one man, if asked, beauty was the glimmer in one's eye, the dimple in their cheek. To another, beauty could be the swooping slope where neck met shoulder, the curve of their significant others spine.

Beauty, in layman's terms, was what one individual found most attractive. And because of this, there were as many definitions of beauty as there were stars in the sky. As many explanations as people who had lived in the many yesterdays and the people of tomorrows. One thing normally stayed constant through these mechanisms however, most descriptions always held and fell on sight more than anything else. But when you had no sight, beauty was as infinitely numerous as it was complicated, but no less fantastic and heart rendering as it was to people who could see.

Beauty, to Matthew Murdock, was the feel of soft, delicate skin against his fingertips. The hollow of the collarbone, the underside of a wrist, behind the knee and ear. In those places you could feel a heartbeat, the heat, the goosebumps, the pump and flow of blood. The skin was always softest there, like satin against his calloused hands.

Feeling things, taking them in with his tactile sense was extremely important to Matt, and not for the reason many would believe. Of course, like countless blind people before him, the sparse girlfriend he had over the years had asked him the obligatory question that nearly every blind person faced. Will you touch my face? Matt agreed on most occasions, not because he really cared for the shape, symmetry or size of their lips or nose, the wideness of their brows and eyes, it never really mattered to him, it wasn't like he would ever see it, but because he liked to feel. The grooves, the curves, the flat plane's that congregated together to make one's face, the silk slip of skin. It was intimate, peaceful and quite possibly one of Matt's favourite things to do.

Beauty, to Matthew Murdock, was the soft and slow sound of bare footsteps padding against hardwood flooring. The sound of raindrops falling from eyelashes onto cheeks. The sound of a steady heartbeat that hitches and picks up pace in the throws of excitement. The sound of quiet slumbering breaths, billowing out and fluttering across his own face and neck. The sound of twinkling chuckles that tickled his eardrum.

But most importantly, the sound of one's voice. Slow, even, gentle, but with a husky edge in the background, like a cindering log left in the fireplace during winter, adding warmth to the person's tone. You could always tell so much from a person's voice, the tremor of tears, the hitch of a lie, the pitch of happiness and the tempo of lust. When reading a person, only an idiot paid the most attention to the face and expression, no, the voice always gave the truth away. A person's voice could lull you to sleep one moment and then the next have your blood blazing.

Beauty, to Matthew Murdock, was the smell of freshness. Pressed cotton hot from the dryer. Lilacs, wild and in season, pollinating the air in spring. The smell of honey, fresh from the farm. That special smell that only woman seemed to give off, some way too strongly mind you. But smell, for Matt, was a double edge sword, one where he often got the blade instead of the handle. Perfume and cologne-doused men and women gave him headaches, the multiple artificial smells that seeped out of convenient stores and bath shops made him sneeze. Sweat, heavy sweat that is, made him heave, as did drainage pipes in streets. The smell from some take-out places put him off food and don't get him started on the smell of a busy city on a hot summers day. Some things are better not thought of unless the absolute need arises.

As crude and impolite as it was to ponder on such things, at least that is what sister Margaret, his home teacher back in the orphanage, had told him, sex was the one time that all his usable senses came together in one torrid affair... Without him having to limp home broken and bruised from a good beating, of course. Touch, smell, taste, hearing, all converging and crashing into one like a tsunami, readying to sweep across his mind and psyche, wiping it all clean for a few glorious moments of the sweetest bliss.

To Matt, sex was the ultimate intimacy he could offer. It was the one time he could take someone else in so completely, simultaneously, while stripping himself bare for the other, showing his scars and vulnerabilities. Letting them soak him in as much as he did them. Maybe that was why he hadn't dated in such a long time, refusing to say since he had started his vendetta for justice, for the truth was it had been a good year or two before even then.

Matt had trouble letting people close since Stick had left him when he was nothing but a confused, hurt and lost little boy. He had even more trouble not pushing them away when they ventured too close themselves, Foggy having been the only one successful, not because of Matt's choice, but because the shorter man was just too stubborn to do anything but dig his feet in and stay.

Presence was another intimate thing for Matt. Sometimes, if they were close to him, extremely close, Matt could feel them, their presence, like a thread leading from them to him, tethering them together. They could be across a crowded room, across the building, across a packed and bustling street and he could still feel the connection. He would know, could pinpoint and focus in on their heartbeats, their breaths, the way they flicked their hair, without really trying to. But this connection, it took time, so much time and effort, and simply listening and taking in a person's mannerisms wasn't quite enough, so Matt rarely bother with it.

That is why on the rather chilly Tuesday morning, on his way for a coffee run for himself and Foggy, the latter sitting behind his desk back in the office swearing he was doing 'work', which Matt really knew was angry birds, that Matt got another shock. In years to come, he would come to realise it was odd when he didn't get surprised or shocked... When it came to Harry that is. He had just crossed the street, slipping through a rather compact throng of people, making sure he made a show of patting his cane on the asphalt when he sensed her.

He was sure it was Harry, it was the same heartbeat, the same tickle of lilacs and honey on his nose, the same small pitter patter of her equally small feet against concrete. Matt's head snapped to his right, in the direction he was certain that the set of noises belonged to, his cane stilling as his breath did puff its last for a while. Idly, he was thankful he had left his glasses behind for once, having no coloured lenses to disturb her image if it was her. That was, of course, if he could actually see her and it wasn't all some dreadfully demented twist his imagination had taken to torment him a week ago when she had strolled into his and Foggy's office.

His breath staggered back to life when she pushed through the crowd, all pale white, vivid green and spring pink. It wasn't his imagination, he could actually see her. However, this monumental moment was short lived, as while he had been distracted by Harry, the rest of the world had not and in his mindlessness and sweeping intake of the short woman, someone ran smack bang into his chest, sending him skidding backwards in hopes of balancing himself, still nearly falling when his right foot skidded against a shallow puddle of ice. A man by the sound of it, cursing loudly as multiple things dropped to the floor, rolling about them, around them, some even ricocheting off Matt's legs. Small, round, slightly bouncy with a hint of fresh sharpness to his smell receptors... Apples, Matt had just knocked over or helped knock over a crate of apples, from a very angry and very vocal seller it seemed.

Now that his senses were well and truly attentive on his surroundings, as they should have been, Matt realized how many people were grumbling, having to skirt around the pile of apples he had barrelled over, disrupting the side-walk and their schedules. The little stall next to him, likely belonging to the same seller that had knocked into him from the smell of fruit, old fruit, barely a day or two away from spoiling, didn't help free up any space for the pedestrians that were trying to get passed the chaos around the two men, and the cascade of fallen apples.

"Damn it! This is a side-walk! Not a centre for the blind! Move out the fucking way man!"

Matt found his balance and finally righted himself before bending back over to try and help the more than frustrated man collect his granny smiths. Giving what he hoped was an apologetic smile at the general direction of the man, only to drop the small pile he had managed to get a hold of and send rolling even further a field. Matt could hear the man huff obnoxiously loud, scoffing at the end as he bent down, the distinctive ruffle of his trousers alerted Matt to the fact, as the seller began to help pick up the scattered fruit.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. I could pay-"

"Damn right you'll pay if you don't get every single last one!"

Matt's eyes closed for a moment as he tried to reign in his flaring temper, breathing heavily through his nose to try and take a calming breath. Would it hurt for a bit of common decency? He had apologized, even offered to pay for the apples, what more could the man want from him? It wasn't like he was the one to run into the man, no, it was the other way around. At this point, however, Matt just wanted it to be over so he could hurry to the coffee house, maybe even try and catch another glimpse of Harry, anything but being kneeled on hard concrete plucking up fruit from the floor.

However, a scuffle of dainty feet, a stomp and then an indignant ouch and curse rang out from the seller just opposite of Matt, making him jolt up, his eyes landing on the one thing he could see... Harry. From her pose, the sound of the man, the squish of fruit and a more sharp smell of apple, Matt could only guess one thing that could have happened. The man had gone to pick an apple and Harry had stomped on said apple while the man's hand was over it, simultaneously squishing the fruit and the sellers hand in one fell sweep. When had she snook up on his mortification? Forcing himself not to look directly at her face, despite how much he wanted to, Matt stared blankly over her shoulder from where she stood above him, a grim set to her lips as she scowled down at the man she was currently standing on. If he thought her action had been an accident before, a simple stumble upon the scene, her glare dissipated those beliefs, and so did her sarcastic tone as she addressed the man who was trying to pull his hand free, finally freeing the appendage on the third tug.

"I don't know what your problem is, but I bet it has a long pronunciation and a hefty therapist bill to tag along with it."

Matt froze, arms ladelled with apples, crouching on the floor, wrinkling his office suit and coat, with his walking aid laid forgotten beside him, staring once again at the woman who had dashed into his life. He didn't know what to say, what to do, half hoping, but not really, that she would walk away and forget she had even seen him be mowed down and this whole horrid and embarrassing affair. It wasn't often Matthew Murdock was thrown off his pedestal, wordless and still like a rabbit caught in headlights, but then again, he had the same reaction both times Harry had appeared. He hoped, if there was a third time which he equally wished to happen, that this would be the last time he froze like a guppy.

"Why you... Move along little girl, this has nothing to do with you. I think you-"

Harry gave the man no time to talk as he stood to tower over her, likely trying to intimidate Harry with his size, a big fellow he was by the way the sellers blood chugged through his veins, as she reached down and grabbed something, the wooden crate if Matt was correct by the sound it made hitting the man square in the chest as she smacked him with it, forcing the big man to stumble back and scramble for it if he wished not to drop it. Finally coming to his senses, Matt, once again, dropped the apples in his arms thoughtlessly, patted his hand beside him for his cane, picking it up when his fingers brushed cool leather and metal and came to a staggering stand, readying to get in between the two infinitely different statured people if the man lost his temper, his heartbeat giving how close he was to doing such, away.

"And your whiny-arsed opinion would be? Go on, enlighten us all how you ploughing into a blind man is anything but an accident and not at least a majority of your fault."

Matt grimaced at Harry's acid laced tone, her normally, from what he had previously heard of her at least, warm and dulcet voice darkening incredibly as she glared up at the man, or at least that was what Matt thought she was doing, as he couldn't very well see the man as he could Harry, and when she was around, he found himself entirely too focused in on her to flare out his other senses to get a hold of the environment. Matt could hear the man's heart skip a beat, then come pounding to full throttle, he could hear the crunch of knuckles tightening as his hands formed fists, tendons straining under the pressure, the beginnings of a growl ringing out from the back of the man's throat.

Matt stood tall, stepped up and slid behind Harry, for once letting his gaze settle on the man's face in eery closeness for a supposedly blind man, letting his own temper blaze to life in his eyes. Matt could hear the man falter a little, even a scruff of his faux leather shoe grind on the pavement as he took a minuscule step back, tension rising as his gaze flickered between Matt, practically Harry's shadow now, and Harry, who Matt had heard crossing her arms and the sleek slip of her feet spreading shoulder length apart, her left foot favoured as it was put slightly more forward than her right... A fighter pose. Well, that was interesting. Then, all of a sudden, like a balloon being popped by a sharp and swift pin, Harry's twinkling chuckle rang out, breaking the tension with her jovial laugh and voice.

"What ever look you're aiming for, you missed it completely. Try a bit more scowling and a lot less cheek wobble. You look like a bloody pug."

The man garbled for a moment, lost for words, Matt could hear the spittle in his mouth come flying out and splash on the ground at their feet. To be fair, Matt only just managed to hold onto his own spit as his eyebrows shot up and he fruitlessly tried to stop himself from staring directly at Harry, instead taking the back of her head and shaking shoulders in from his peripheral vision. Or, more accurately, looking into the flames and abyss, his normal greeting when his eyes were involved, the only beacon in the darkness being the woman in front of him. Once again, he mentally asked himself how in the holy saints he could see her. The seller found ground and earth once more, but Harry hastily cut him off, the happiness in her voice simmering down with each passing word until there was none left.

"I'm telling you, if you have one more thing to say, do me a favour. Raise your hand... Then put it over your mouth and walk the hell away."

Ultimately, the man seemed to have had enough of having his ego beaten down by a five foot three woman, huffed and staggered off, cursing under his breath as he did so, leaving Matt and Harry standing alone, or as alone as two could get while people marched passed them, off to work, home or the shops. Harry slowly turned around, her bouncy curls, loose this time, billowing around her, grin wide and dimpled etched on her face as she smiled up at Matt, and again, so often when it came to her and their limited meetings, Matt found his breath stilling in his lungs, speaking before he really thought of a single word to say.

"Is neighbourhood hero on your resume, or are you adding that later? If you need a reference, I could always give one."

Harry chuckled once more and Matt wanted to bottle the sound up and take it home with him, something he could crack open and make him smile while he was alone in his apartment, or bleeding out on some unknown stairwell, hidden only by some well-placed shadows and huddled form as he recuperated for the walk home. Unwilling, and unbeknownst to him, his own smile flickered into place as he stared down at Harry, focusing on the single dimple in her left cheek, it sort of made her smile look lopsided, but all the more endearing.

"And a heavy dose of sarcasm is just the bonus service I offer. Are you sure you're okay Mister Murdock?"

Matt blinked as he snapped too, realizing he had been staring too... Focused on Harry's face, too pointedly for a _'blind'_ man. So, with much regret and stalling, Matt forced his gaze to slowly wonder to one of her more rebellious curls and blankly stared at it, concentrating back in on his other senses to help distract himself. Still a bit dazed, Matt once again lost his eloquence and found himself blabbering on.

"Matt... Just Matt, and I'm fine thank you."

Matt watched as the curl bounced heavily with the nod of her head. He heard the shuffle of her feet as she backed away a step, the sound of the skin of her hands gliding over fabric as she brushed them down her coat, straightening out her clothes, though, Matt could hear no creases fling back into place, telling him it was likely a nervous habit more than an actual need to fix anything that was untidy.

"A mess in the streets, grumbling citizens and a red-faced blubbering man, it looks like my work here is done. Have a good day Mister Mur-... Matt. Take it easy, that prat of a man bumped into you kind of hard."

The man had marched into him harshly, but it was hardly anything to take it easy over, not with his extracurricular activities he had been participating in. Although that blooming bruise on the bottom of his back, from a drug dealer he had dragged to the police station last night was flaring up its anger a little at the added pressure and not giving it enough time to heal properly, but yet again, he was used to it.

Only when he heard three fading footsteps, from Harry, did he realize she was walking away. He really needed to keep out of his own head when around her, or at least not be so absent minded in his surroundings. That just spelled trouble with the type of life he lived. That is, if she actually stuck around for more than a five-minute conversation. Then his mind caught up to the fact that she was actually leaving again, about to drag the colours and sight with her once more, leaving him to darkness and fire and in a moment of panic he shouted out at her retreating back.

"The coffee house! I was on my way to the coffee house, maybe, after what just transpired, you could also add helper of the feeble if you would be kind enough to help me get there? You never know, I might accidentally wonder into a hardware store this time and what a mess that will make."

Matt could hear Harry's footsteps splitter off to a stop, his smile growing as he saw... Saw, that was still such a strange word to use after all this time, her slowly turn around, grin as big as his in place, making his heart skip a beat. It was such a different sight since his last one, his father's worried and frantic face as the world faded to black and blood, bearing over him, searing into his mind as the last thing he would ever see. But it wasn't, no, because he could see this small, curly-haired, lopsided, wonderment of a woman in front of him. Matt had given up asking how, if only for it to carry on.

"You seemed to have done pretty well for yourself before I came along. I'm sure a cup of coffee isn't that hard to acquire in a city like this."

Of course she wouldn't fall for his I'm blind, I need help act. She seemed too smart for that. He had the odd feeling that Harry didn't miss much, and the things she did miss were insignificant anyhow. However, as she turned once more, grin still placed upon her heart shaped face, Matt acted more on instinct and desperation than actual belief his little two-second plan would or could come to any form of fruition. Being near the fruit stall, Matt took one side step closer, gripped his walking aid tighter... And proceeded to hit a bowl of some sort of oddly shaped fruit over with a swoop of his walking stick, pears if the sound of them rolling was anything to go by, hearing it crash and tumble to the concrete in a song of wood splintering and fruit skidding. Matt grimaced slightly, only after having acted realizing what a stupid plan it was. Still, he grinned in Harry's direction, hearing her snap around again to face him, Matt tried to innocently as possible play the whole thing off.

"Oh, no... I've done it again."

Even to ears that couldn't listen as well as his own could, innocent wasn't exactly the tone he had managed, instead guilt and playful sarcasm tinging each word. Instead of the scoff and storming off he had expected from his rather poor and even worse hidden ploy, he wouldn't blame Harry if she did, he would too in her shoes, Matt was gifted with Harry's cosmic laugh and incredulity. Well, it looked like he had some karma points after all.

"You did that on purpose! You're such a Slytherin-"

Harry cut herself off from the last word, but it was too late and already hovering in the air between them. Matt didn't know what or who a Slytherin was, but it was likely half insulting, or at least something to do with being blatantly sneaky and coupled with the shock in her voice, she had not expected it from him. It was most probably some English slang word, they had many, so Matt took up the mantle to break the silence.

"No I didn't."

Harry edged closer, shoulders squaring back. Matt didn't mind her ire one bit, not if it got her to stay for a few moments more, letting him relish in his one sense that was cut off from him every time she wasn't around. She was deliberate with her words, poignantly placing emphasis on each one.

"I saw you."

Matt grinned wider, placing his walking aid in front of him like one would with a staff, leaning on it as he held it tightly between two hands, his thumb stroking the leather handle.

"Well, I didn't see a thing. So, really, all I have to rely on is the word of a woman who won't even help a defenceless blind man reach the coffee house."

Harry's laughter was louder this time, more rich and as it tottered off to an end, Matt could hear her state, in her words, _you think you're so smooth_ , under her breath. However, she didn't turn and walk away, so maybe his plan wasn't as half bad as he had originally believed it to be. Though, lately as with everything in Matt's life, when things started looking up, something went wrong to ruin it all. Standing up straighter, Matt's walking stick moved an inch and in doing so, hit the same shallow puddle of ice he had nearly tripped on earlier, forcing him to swing it away and scramble with his steps to keep himself upright and in a sweep, his stick hit another container of fruit and sent it sailing with its comrades to the floor.

"I swear, that one was an accident."

Harry huffed something between a chuckle and an exasperated sigh, walking over to him in the process, plucking his arm up to help him navigate through the graveyard of fallen fruit. He could feel her fingers, strong but gentle and small, wrap around his bicep, distracting him slightly from her voice when she spoke.

"Alright, just to stop you from causing Armageddon for a cup of coffee."

Harry's hand dropped from his arm once they had escaped the fruit, but she stood close to him, giving him an opportunity to remedy the loss of contact, and if ever questioned, he could always use the excuse of needing to have a hold on her so he didn't fall or bump into anything else. Matt was not above using the blind card, as shown plenty of times in the short span of their conversation previously. Even so, instead of linking his arm through hers, or holding onto her elbow which would be the best options, Matt let his arm stay down by his own side and lightly flexed his hand out, wrapping his fingers around Harry's wrists, his thumb finding home over the tender skin of the inner wrist, just over her pulsing veins.

The funny thing was, as wondrous as being able to see her was, Matt had gone most of his life without sight and so, did not really need it to truly see her. She smelled like lilacs, spring rain and honey. Her skin was smooth and soft, like silk and feathers. Her voice was gentle and warm, her laugh even better to his ears. The truth was, even if he could not see her, or her dimpled grin, the colour of her luminous eyes, her sharp cheekbones, her lips, the straight slope of her nose, he would and could have still told anyone who asked him that Harriet Potter was, indeed, very beautiful.

"We can't have that now can we? I've already scheduled Armageddon for Thursday afternoon."

* * *

 **IMPORTANT PLEASE READ** : I can't carry on this story **without prompts** , so please, if you have one, leave it in a review or a P.M, anywhere as long as I can read it, the more prompts, the longer this fic will go on.

AN: _Thank you_ to everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited. You guy's are the reason I carried on this story and will continue to do so as long as you enjoy it. If you have a spare moment, please drop a review, they give me life.

Until next time, stay beautiful!~AlwaysEatTheRude21


	3. Befuddled, blushes, business

_Befuddled, blushes, business_

Foggy Nelson was many things, witty, sharp-tongued, eternal procrastinator, loyal to a fault, but above all that, at his core value, the thing many overlooked in him but became his sharpest and most used weapon was one simple thing. His observational skills. And boy, did it come in handy with his line of work. He was a holy man of sorts. This small, old office that still had no air con no matter the number of times he had ringed the repair man, was his monastery. His suit and satchel were his cowl and monk robes. His mind was his alter. His documents and law cases his holy water and sceptre, his faith was the law. A new age monk that lived in a concrete jungle. So, as the leading monk of law, it was his job, or so he told himself just, to lead the stray sheep back to the riotous path. And who was said stray sheep that had wandered away from its heavenly duties? None other than his long-time friend, confidant, and brother in all but blood, Matthew Murdock.

Foggy had first noticed the distraction present in his friend about a week ago. Nothing big at first, no blaring sign above his head that bedazzled and shined in neon lights, shouting to the world that his mind was elsewhere, but a plain stuttering here and there, a repeat of what? When Foggy had asked a question or spoke about the latest case that had flown upon them in a scattering of paper and a belligerent stubborn old lady who wore way too much paisley.

He also took on the case of Karen Paige, which they had the odds stacked against them from the very beginning, paid barely enough attention at the interview, and while, like always, the hot girl, a total ten Karen was Foggy would admit, leaned and subconsciously flirted with Matt, this time, Matt was already out the door muttering about how he should have gotten a number from something or someone that sounded like Harmon, or Harold, or something beginning with an H. The day after that, Foggy had seen Matt read the same line of Braille sixteen times... Sixteen! That was just not at all like Matt, let alone productive for their fledgling of a law firm and a case that seemed impossible to win. The one time for Matt to lose his mind, he sure as hell picked the wrong month.

It only got worse with each tick of the clock, the dazed shakes of head, the hand running through Matt's hair, his mindlessness, god damn it, Matt had taken to bringing an apple into work every day. Foggy had never even seen him buy an apple before, not once! Now he had a draw full of them, Foggy knew, he had seen him dump the plump little things in there at the end of the day and had artfully... Okay, bumbled his way into Matt's office while the other man was in the toilet and had proceeded to yank said draw open and stare bewilderedly at the mounting pile of granny smiths. But could you blame him? Who had a draw full of apples? Psychopaths and sociopaths did, that's who.

Well, maybe he was exaggerating again, but it definitely was not normal! Matt was the epitome of normal, if you excluded the blind factor. Dammit, Foggy was sure Matt even ironed his socks. His socks! Something was terribly, terribly wrong and it was up to Foggy to sort this mess out and save the day. Maybe, if they won the case, even scoring a date with Karen. Now that would be reward for all his built up Karma, if you could cash in Karma like Amazon points that is.

So what did monks do when confronting their lost sheep? Well, Foggy didn't rightly know, having never stepped foot in a church before, but he had seen one old black and white movie where a monk had ambushed a ninja and beaten the word of god into them with a bible of all things. So, he decided to go the same route, hiding behind Matt's office door, laying in wait for him to come tumbling in at half eight, his normal arrival time. However, just like the last week, his normal, routine-ridden friend ventured out of his schedule and ended up making Foggy wait in his office an hour longer as Matt came strolling in at half nine. As Foggy had said before and would continue to do so, something horrid was amiss.

Matt finally walked into his office, Foggy already seated at Matt's desk, legs kicked up and relaxing against the wood, hands folded upon his lap, staring straight at Matt as the brunette man yanked his scarf off, jumping slightly when Foggy gave a dramatic cough. See? Another sign that this was either an imposter, the real Matt being locked in a dank basement, or he was suffering from early onset of Dementia. No matter the inane point that Matt was blind, not once had he ever jumped when Foggy had tried to sneak up on him or was already in a room he had entered. Never. And trust him, Foggy had tried for years to reach that end. The climax of successfully startling Matt wasn't as great or as satisfying as Foggy had originally believed it to be. No, in fact, it left quite the bitter after-taste in his mouth.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? Another apple? Well, you can add that to the... Oh, what was it now? Two hundred more you have in your draw."

One for dramatic flare, Foggy blamed that streak from those summer classes he took as a freshman to get close to head cheerleader Daisy, Foggy kicked his feet off from the desk, bent down and yanked the door open, delved his hand into the abyss of the desk draw, plucked out an apple and proceeded to chuck it at Matt, watching amusedly as it bounced off the one in Matt's hands and both went tumbling to the floor with a muted bang and swoosh. In all fairness, Matt didn't flounder, nor try and run for it, instead, the taller man stood his ground, even going as far as to cross his arms over his broad chest, dawning a petulant look as if he was the one being put out. It was a silent way of telling Foggy one simple thing. Game on.

"Is it illegal to have fruit now Foggy?"

Foggy's eyes squinted as he scanned Matt, not to actually take note of his state or the slight bruise on his jawline, but to try and see into his mind, to try and figure out what had burrowed into Matt's being and was reeking havoc in his brain. Foggy was big enough, old enough to admit if he was witty, Matt was downright shrewd and cunning in his inner workings and speech when he wanted to put someone in their place or to force the unfortunate individual to back off from a certain topic. That come back spoke of how far gone his friend was gone, it lacking all form of humour, sarcasm, derision or sagacity. It was a weak rebuff, half-felt and poorer than dirt and by the grimace playing at Matt's lips, the slight increase of twitching in his cheek muscle, Matt knew that too.

"Oh, having fruit is fine Matt, absolutely fine. But apples? And so many? Surely you aren't that scared of doctors, you have enough to scare off a whole god damned hospital!"

The apples. It was one of the only things Foggy had to work with. Apart from the letter H, but that would take all day to get to the bottom of and if Foggy was right in his reasoning, the apples linked in with the letter H. Matt gave a short but aggravated huff of breath, his cheeks puffing out slightly at the influx of air being pushed out. Though Matt never looked Foggy dead on, he was blind after all, Matt did normally manage to keep his face in the general direction Foggy stood in. And when Matt's face turned further away from Foggy, over towards the window, as if the brunette man was staring out at the skyscraper landscape of Hell's Kitchen, Foggy knew this was bad.

Matt was purposely turning away from him, closed off body language, in short, Matt was trying to fruitlessly slam Foggy out with a twist of his body and fold of limbs. Matt should have known by now, when it came to Foggy Nelson, he was never so easily deterred. Not when it proved this interesting or involved his close friends, and as 'un-manly' as it was to admit, Matt, apart from his mother, was the closest human being to Foggy. His brother in all that mattered. Matt was the one to break the silence that had descended upon them like a tidal wave, cutting through it with an indignant and defensive question.

"This isn't just about the apples is it?"

Well, no shit Murdock. Foggy almost wanted to scuff the bigger man up the side of his head. Instead, Foggy chose to kick back in Matt's comfortable desk chair, placing his crossed feet back onto the wooden desk. Crossing his own arm over his chest, Foggy scrutinized Matt one last time, as if his appearance would miraculously give him the answers he so desperately sort. Unfortunately, life was never that easy and it left Foggy to play his own cards. However, unlike before, where he had tried to bulldoze the answer from Matt, Foggy tried the softer approach. A good cop, bad cop sort of deal. It worked well in the movies all the time, and after all, the movies couldn't be wrong about everything, could they?

"Oh, I don't know. How about you tell me?"

Okay, he sounded more like a therapist than a police officer in the process of interrogation, but it was a start. The wrong start apparently as Matt heartily scoffed at Foggy, finally pulling his precariously dangling scarf off with a harsh tug and twist of his wrist, chucking it on the table, the tail end flipping over Foggy's shiny shoes. Marching around the table to his seat, Matt bore down on Foggy, as if waiting for the man to abdicate his seat so he could get down to work and forget this ever happened. Now it was Foggy's turn to scoff, digging himself more deeply into the chair in retaliation. If Matt thought it was over just like this, he had another thing coming.

"It's too early for these games Foggy. Way too early. If you're not going to leave, can we skip the sarcasm and get to the point?"

Foggy's boots made contact with the linoleum flooring with a boisterous thunk, his hands braced against the armrest of the chair, the wheels squeaking as he pushed it back and away from the desk, standing to face Matt squarely. Matt didn't budge back an inch, not one toe moving away, even as Foggy took to poking him in the chest, rattling off the list he had made in his mind of things that could be the culprit for flipping his friend upside down and inside out.

"Fine then. What is it? Meth? Crack? Cocaine? Prostitution? Are you a lady of the night Matt?"

To be completely fair, it was an easy and logical conclusion to come too. Matt, always on time, smiley, friendly, unfazed and unstressed Matt, had to be on something. It was the only thing Foggy could come up with that would explain all this bizarre behaviour that Matt presented him with. That or clones were actually out there, only still in their perfecting stage. Matt's head rolled backward, as if he was staring at the ceiling, as if he could see, looking for an answer or an escape route. Once his head flopped back into place, Matt kicked the apple draw shut with a swift kick, edged around Foggy, pulled his seat closer to his desk and sagged into it, running a tired handover and down his face, the skin of his palms tugging on the stubble of his jaw.

"Lady of the night... I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer. It's apples Foggy. Apples. Why are you in such a tizzy about it?"

As it were, Foggy was now the one wandering over to the other side of the desk, as if he and Matt had swapped places, now him being the one in the hot seat. Although, Foggy seemed to be a more passionate hostage, his arms flinging out from his sides as he walked backward, voice louder, hands never stagnant as he ranted. Everything about him seemed to be in constant movement, in contrast to Matt, who sat stock still, seemingly unbreathing as he listened to Foggy.

"Because it's not just apples! Your head has been all over the place, you hardly keep track of time, your suit has creases in it! You never have creases in your suit! I have never seen you so befuddled before, so not... Normal! So, the only reason I can come up with is your on some sort of mind-altering drug. So which is it? Meth, it's meth isn't it! I knew it was!"

Matt sighed, leaned forward, elbows resting on his bent knees as he addressed Foggy's wild accusation and assumption. Only now choosing to move and speak once Foggy seemed to run out of steam to do much of anything but stand in Matt's office and work his brilliant mind over what other possible explanations there could hope to be. Because really, having a junkie as his best friend didn't seem all that fun, or great for business. Foggy had googled people on Meth once, the least he could say was it was not a pretty sight, and Judge's were more likely to take them seriously if Matt had all his teeth... And fingers equipped.

"I'm not on methamphetamines Foggy. And for the record, my mind has been just fine! I even finished the Ludwig case last night."

Now it was Foggy's turn to sigh forlornly as he scrubbed at his eyes with his fingertips, on hand clasped at his hip. The only outward sign of undefeated will and impatience being the tapping of his foot he seemed to be unmindful of. Just one more sign that showed Matt's head had been up in the clouds, only, this time, Foggy knew it had been longer than a week, and he had only just noticed. What had happened a month ago that could have done this to ever steadily and business savvy Matt?

"Matt, that case is over a month old. I'd already finished it three weeks ago. If it's not meth, then what the hell is wrong with you? Come on buddy, I won't judge. Of course, I might laugh, but never judge."

Foggy could practically see the walls slam up and around Matt, his answering statement only solidifying just how out of sorts the red tinted bespectacled man was.

"I Have no idea what you are on about."

Foggy's shoulders sagged but his feet began to walk him in a line, back and forth, across Matt's desk, walking a groove into the floor as he paced. He wouldn't give in, not until he got what he had come in here for, answers. So, if it weren't meth, then it had to be something else. Something beginning with an H. In Foggy's limited knowledge of street drugs, he could only come up with two that began with that fateful letter, and neither one seemed much better than meth. At this stage, Foggy was willing and wanting to reach over the large desk and shake Matt back and forth by his suit blazer. Maybe a good jiggle and wiggle to his brain would kick start it and dislodge whatever had gotten stuck in there. If only Foggy would or could be so lucky.

"Heroin! It's heroin isn't it? Or hash... Have you been eating Hash brownies? Does Hells kitchen even have a Rastafarian bakery...Wait, doesn't matter."

Foggy was cut off prematurely by a monotoned Matt, his words missing all tone, including anger, but did hold a sharp edge to them, be it either simmering agitation, or disbelief at being asked such questions, Foggy didn't know which one, but it really didn't matter in the end. Matt was going to speak, and that would be that. Even if Foggy had to drag it out from him with pliers and a screwdriver. He had seen the film hostage... He knew things.

"Foggy, for the last time, I. Am. Not. On. Drugs."

There was a stutter in Foggy's stride, a little misstep, but he carried on his valiant march all the same. So, drugs were out of the equation. Alcohol too, if Foggy thought about it. If Matt was a closet Alcoholic, surely Foggy would have smelled the hard liquor on him, or found a bottle in his desk when he had gone routing through it and found the apple draw. So... What the hell could it be? Matt seemed too young to be going through a mid-life crisis, but then again, so had uncle Fred when he had decided to become a macho-libra...

"Well, it's something beginning with an H, I've heard you muttering it all week."

From the corner of Foggy's eyes, he could see a deep pink settle over the swerve of Matt's cheeks... He was blushing! Now, and only now, did Foggy's feet stop momentum, jarring Foggy to a jolting stop as his eyes locked onto Matt, growing slightly wide at what he saw. Under his scruff, on the highest sweep of Matt's cheekbones, the skin was blossoming a red tinge, blooming out like little pink clouds over his normally pale skin. Foggy pulled back slightly, only to frantically point his finger at Matt's face, almost accusational, as he scrambled for words.

"There! See! You never blush!"

Matt shook his head slightly, scooting his chair further into his desk as his hands went down to his blazer's buttons, fiddling to get the button undone as he finally succeeded and flapped the grey material a little before letting it fall back into place, but never going to re-do the button. Foggy smiled a grin that probably looked better suited on a wolf than a human. He had him, hook line and sinker. And by god, would Foggy let him wiggle his way out of this one with his charming words, sharp barbs or easy manner.

"I am not blushing. It's just... Did you get the heater running? It's hot in here."

Foggy chuckled, loud, humorous and tinged with a hint of madness, he would later admit. Maybe Matt not being on top form would work out for Foggy after all, especially right now. He had Matt cornered now, all Foggy had to do was get the big bastard in the net and it was game over, he would finally know what this had all been about, and hopefully, fingers crossed, he could get his old friend back to being fully functional. Maybe a Nobel peace prize was in his future after all, god knows he needed one with putting up with Matt's antics every other week.

"Ha ha! Pull the other Matt. Now, if you aren't willing to tell me, I'll just have to figure it out myself. It begins with an H, you blush when it's mentioned, your mind has been all over the place... You mutter it under your breath and then shake your head... You daydream... Dear god..."

No... It couldn't be... Really? Now that he had said all the 'symptoms' out loud, there was only one possible thing it could be, and he had completely overlooked it. While it did include drugs, Dopamine, Serotonin and Oxytocin to name but a few, it came from something much, much more dangerous. But this was Matt, this happened to the people who went after him, not him. Never him. Not through the years Foggy had known him, and Foggy liked to think he was one of the few who knew Matt the most. However, with that look on his face, those heated cheeks, the clues all laid bare in the open, Foggy couldn't deny it, or help nearly swallowing his tongue.

"No. Just no, Foggy. You have it wrong. You've been watching too much T.V again-"

What was this dangerous, boggling, addictive, mind-altering phenomenon that had Matt in its clutches? A woman. The most complicated, mysterious and magnetic organism in the entire world. Foggy laughed heartily... Matt was well and truly fucked. It was Foggy's turn to abruptly cut off Matt this time.

"No, I have it, I know I do. You're just trying to throw me off! And yes, I may have spent a majority of last night watching a Sherlock marathon, but that was because you forgot it was bar crawl Wednesday!"

Matt seemed to sink into his chair deeply or grow shorter and smaller as he rubbed at his forehead, the hand eventually venturing into Matt's hair to run through the hazardous locks, his voice hushed and rushed as he spoke. Foggy almost wished he had a camera to record all this, not knowing when he would see a dazed and flushed Matthew Murdock again. Who was he kidding, there was no almost about it, he really did wish he had a camera.

"Wednesday... You mean it's Thursday? Shit Foggy, we have to get Karen Paige's case ready for court Monday!"

Foggy courtly wagged his finger in Matt's direction, even with full knowledge the man would not see him doing so. Strolling towards Matt's desk, opposite of him, Foggy braced his hands on the wood, fingers and arms spread, as he leaned forward and over, nearly piercing Matt's personal space bubble with his actions.

"Ah, no you don't! You don't get off that easy. I deduce from your reactions, the daydreams, blushes and hopeless sparkly eyes-"

"I do not have sparkly eyes! I'm pretty sure blind people cannot have 'sparkly' eyes."

"You, my friend, are in love!"

Matt slowly, unhurriedly and lazily crossed his arms over his chest, lips pressed into a thin line as he tensed, one single word being pressed through teeth and lips. A dire warning.

"Foggy."

Maybe not dire, but a warning all the same, to turn back and not to press this any further. When had Foggy ever taken heed before and turned his back on something so new and juicy? Never, that's when, and this was no different. When he wanted to, and the subject interested him enough, Foggy was like a dog with a bone, relentless and slobbering. Foggy idly wondered if Matt could feel the net close in around him. All the same, Foggy relented... A little.

"Well, love may be an exaggeration. But you fancy someone. And normally, when this happens, the lady is all over you and you don't pine away in the office like you have been for the last week which means-"

"I have not been pining!"

Foggy gave Matt a sharp look, hoping he could at least feel the heat of his eyes blazing on Matt's face. Being cut off repeatedly was wearing thin, especially when Foggy knew it was all a lame attempt to get him to backtrack and leave. Like the many episodes of Sherlock he had binged on last night, Foggy decided to share his conclusion, estimation and inner riddles with a growingly flustered Matt, who had suddenly taken on the form of a tomato with his red face and indignant spluttering. Oh camera, where art tho camera...

"She is either playing hard to get, or you're out of your depth and don't know how to approach her...Meaning you're nervous about this one. It means something to you, she means something to you. It's the latter right, I can see it in your face. Wow, a woman that doesn't automatically want to jump your bones, that never happens! Well, apart from Har-..."

The time... The letter H... The refusal... Matt's first reaction to her and his plundering attempt at conversation... Foggy felt dizzy and giddy with the sudden revelation. How the hell had he not seen it? It was a month ago she had been in this very office, a month of Matt acting like a fish on land. The proverbial light-bulb dinged to brilliant life above Foggy's head as he rounded on Matt, grin brighter than any artificial light.

"Harry. Dear Bruce Lee all mighty, you have a crush on Harry!"

Foggy could see a down twist to Matt's lips as he waved his hand as if trying to squash something. His next rushed exclamation only cemented what Foggy had found in his mind. Matt didn't even try to deny it, the flush growing in vivacity and Foggy wanted to do a little jig through it all. Mark the day down, get the choir singing, hell, inform the queen of fucking England. Matthew Murdock was flustered and lost over a woman!

"Keep it down Foggy!"

This was gold. Solid 24 karat gold. Foggy felt like a school girl, wanting to find the nearest group of people to gossip with about this oddity that had taken place in this very office. In his very presence! God damn... He had witnessed a miracle first hand. Because, to Matt and his reactions at least, this wasn't just a hookup. No simple attraction. No wanting to plainly and easily get his jollies off. Matt actually, by the looks of it, really liked and really wanted to get close to Harry. Something Foggy had never seen take place before, not when Matt was involved. Matt was sure of himself, not arrogantly, but a quiet sense of confidence that showed he was happy in his own skin. However, now, he looked like a lost little child waiting for his mother to come and collect him from the big scary police officer. Gold. Solid fucking Gold.

"Oh my god. I've lived to see the day were Matthew Murdock doesn't know what to do to get a ladies attention. It's cute... And oddly disturbing, like watching a baby chick wonder past, only for it to smile with a beak full of sharp teeth. Ech."

Matt forlornly sighed, his form looking like a balloon someone was letting the air out of as he sagged back into his seat, letting his head loll against the cushioned back. Matt's crossed arms sinking to his sides, his hands falling uselessly into his lap. Good, Foggy thought as the tension finally left the air, Matt's guarded nature bubbling down to nothing as he let it go. After all, there was no point in trying to guard something against someone who knew what it was already.

"Can we please move past the point of humiliating me? At least for today?"

Foggy shook his head as he let his hip lean against the desk, propping him up as he looked out the window. There was still one thing that didn't make a lick of sense, one Foggy was pretty sure only Matt knew. And maybe Harry. However, Harry wasn't here for questioning, so Matt would have to do.

"I still don't get the apples."

Matt's voice was quiet when he spoke, barely a wisp in the air around them, but Foggy heard all the same.

"I may have bumped into her a week ago. I fell into a pile of apples, she helped me to the coffee house."

Foggy's eyebrows drew down and puckered in confusion. Well, that explained the added dazedness Matt had portrayed over the last week... Sort of. If Matt had gotten her to the coffee house, then why had he been all over the place this last week, and looking so put out right now?

"Well, if she went with you to the coffee house, why so glum? You're half way there already."

Matt reached up and scratched at the stubble on his cheek with blunt fingernails, just above the yellowing bruise on his jaw, likely from another fall due to his... Well, blindness. It was a tick of his Foggy had noticed years back. He had done something underhanded and was currently trying to word it in the least guilty way he could possibly find. Sometimes, in these moments, if you knew Matt as well as Foggy did, the man was an open book for any passer-by to read.

"I may have had to... Seem a bit more dazed and accident prone than I really am."

Foggy broke, laughing joyously as he spoke, the words broken up between chuckles and a knee slap. Only, for the longer Foggy spoke, the quicker it died down and turned to outright confusion and disbelief as he figured out what had taken place from his own understanding of Matt and his limited understanding of Harry's personality.

"You... You played the blind card! And I bet you knocked some of that fruit over on purpose too! Well, why didn't you ask her on a date when you got to the coffee house, grab her number? Schedule a date?... Did you do anything at all?"

Matt pushed out from his chair, standing precipitously and pacing four steps to the right, swivel, four steps again, only to carry on the process as he ran a hand through his hair, making one lock comically stand straight up like a lightening rod. Foggy had the motherly urge to grab him by the shoulders and brush the hair back into place with an affectionate shake of his head. This side of Matt, the one Foggy was only now after all this time seeing, was as funny as it was heart warming to see.

"We got to the coffee house and she had a phone call from... Someone named Wesley. Anyway, it was urgent and she had to leave. I... I didn't think to get her number. Damn it Foggy, I've been going back to the coffee house before and after work for the last week, just in case, and she still hasn't shown. If you were a woman like Harry, where would you go?"

Foggy shook his head, and really, true and honest, couldn't help what came out of his mouth next.

"Well, that's slightly pathetic."

Matt suddenly stopped in his movement to swerve and face Foggy's general direction, his voice an octave higher than what it normally was and dusted with exasperation.

"Foggy, you are not helping!"

Foggy kicked off from the desk, grinning widely as he recanted with a shrug of his shoulders, a cheeky remark and a plan forming in his mind. When Harry had first entered his office months ago, Foggy would be lying if he said he hadn't tried to date the woman himself. He would dare anyone to get to know the warm woman, who was anything but an eyesore, and not do the same. But this was Matt, his brother, and looking through his meetings with Harry, what he knew of her, they fit extremely well in retrospect. Almost too well know that he had come to think of it. How had he not seen the possibility and chemistry before? It didn't matter, he did now. So, like a fairy godmother, sans dress and glitter, Foggy would wave his magical wand and preform a wish.

"What I meant to say was romantic. The type of story to tell your grandchildren. Now, let Papa Foggy help you out."

Foggy delved his hand into his own blazers inner pocket, but Matt was too busy pacing once more to pay attention to what Foggy had pulled out from the depths and was currently searching through. Maybe if the law thing fell through, he could try and get a job as a professional match-maker.

"Don't ever call yourself Papa Foggy again. You sound like a smirf stripper."

Finally finding Harry's number on his list of contacts on his phone, Foggy pressed it and hit dial. He had obtained it under the pretence of needing to get in touch with her if her case had any hiccups, when in reality he was planning on using it to grab a date with her himself. Now, however, he would be using it for the same hidden agenda, just not for the same recipient. Matt really owed him for this one, Harry was above a ten, an Eleven, twelve even and god knows they didn't come by often. Nobel peace prize, here Foggy comes.

"Is that how you repay and talk to the person who is going to score you a date with a smoking hot English rose? I think not! Still, being the outstanding citizen I am, it is my soul duty to help the pitiful and downtrodden. Be quiet a second."

Foggy held the phone up to his ear, waving Matt off with a few flicks of his wrist's as if the brunette man was nothing but an annoying fly to bat away. Unfortunately, Foggy had left the volume on his phone up and the dial tone of ringing was loud and obnoxious as it buzzed through the office, inadvertently alerting Matt to what he was up to. The ringing of the phone stilled Matt into place as if cement and ice had been poured over him in the gallons.

"Foggy... What are you doing... No... Don't! How do you even have her number!"

One second Matt was on the other side of the desk, far enough away, the next Matt was upon him like a plague sent down from Zeus... Or some godly shit. Matt scrambled for the phone, nearly clasping it and pulling it away before Foggy managed to pull it out of his reach. So, later, much later, both would deny had ever happened, the two men fought over the phone with dodges, shooting hands and a weird sort of dance.

"Too late, It's ringing. And that's what adults do Matty, they exchange numbers! Now shush and let go!... Oh hello Harry, it's Foggy."

Despite Harry actually being on the other end of the line now, it didn't deter Matt or Foggy over their mini-battle for the phone, Foggy having to resort to pulling Matt's tie like a leash to have enough time to speak to Harry before Matt was back with retaliation after breaking free from the silk noose. For a blind man, Matt was quick and precise, forcing Foggy to juggle the phone between hands, talk to Harry as fast as possible and keep an eye on Matt throughout the whole exchange simultaneously.

"Yeah, I was just wondering if you wanted to pop over to the law firm... Me and Matt have some spare time and we were wondering if you wanted to come see... Ow, my balls!"

In a years time, when asked over beers between the four of them, Harry, Foggy, Matt and Karen, Matt would adamantly state it was purely an accident, where Foggy would scoff and swear Matt had done it on purpose with vicious intent. Although, the outcome was the same, in one sleek movement, in a tangle of limbs and punches between Foggy and Matt, Matt's knee collided with a part no man wanted to ever be hit in. Foggy crumbled like a stack of cards, the end of his voice hitting a pitch even choir boys would envy as he doubled over and huffed out. Still, like the soldier he was, and more determined than ever, Foggy carried on speaking through the phone, even if his voice sounded like it belonged on a pre-teen girl than it did a fully grown man.

"No! No, we weren't wondering if you wanted to come see my balls... Matt, I swear to god! You're Elbows feel like daggers!... No not your's Harry... Jesus quit it!... We wanted to know if you fancied popping over and going to this great little Mexican take-out down the road... Matt, for fuck sake, I am not above poking a blind man in the eye!... No, we're not busy either... No, were not fighting at all... Oh, you're in the neighbourhood?... Passing by now... Good, how far-... Oomph"

Somehow, some-way the two men had ended up sprawled on the desk, Foggy in front of it, looking like he was sitting on the edge with his neck in a headlock, Matt actually kneeling on the desk with said man's neck between his elbow and arm, red glassed skewed heavily on his face. Papers were scattered around them in a flurry of white square panels, Matt's paper weight was rolling towards the door, the office land line was dangling off the edge, wire caught on the corner of the desk, Matt's chair was overturned, upside down with the wheels still spinning in the air. In short, in that little office in the middle of Hells kitchen, there was complete chaos. Still, Foggy wanted to laugh but ended up squeaking out a giggle instead with the pressure around his neck. Playing wingman was fun, why hadn't he done this before?

"Well, come quick... Matt's starving... Nothing wrong with my voice... No, it's normally this high..."

When the pressure around his neck became too much, Foggy pulled the phone away and sent his elbow flying backward, crashing into Matt's ribs. To be fair to the man, he bent slightly and huffed, but that was all he did even as Foggy repeated the process. Whatever gym Matt was going to, he needed to fucking join with abs that hurt his elbow more than his elbow hurt them. Then, yes, in true Matt and Foggy luck, the worst happened. A voice rang out from the open door neither had spotted in their struggle. A voice both knew, a voice that froze them in a tangled mess upon Matt's desk.

"The door was open and I heard fighting, I got worried... Do I even want to know?"

Harry in all her wonder, dressed in easy white washed jeans, beige jumper and suede boots, curly hair rolled into a bun and held by this long wooden bumpy chopstick, Foggy theorized, stood at the door, her own mobile still up to her ear before she slowly pulled it away and hung up. Then, the two men jumped into action. Both pushed away from each other, scrambling to stand and straighten out their half destroyed clothes, their excuses spilling from their lips simultaneously.

"Macho things."

"Law case."

Both slowly turned to eye each other up, Matt with his eyebrows high on his forehead as he mouthed Macho at him. Foggy, though, seeing the blush still staining Matt's cheeks and how twittered he looked, could only grin widely, shrug his shoulders and turn to face Harry who still stood in the doorway, trying to be as charming as possible as he tried to salvage the situation.

"A very macho law case."

No one spoke, even as Matt shuffled his feet and set his glasses straight on the bridge of his nose and through it all, Foggy lapped up every second. Watching Matt squirm was like Christmas had come early. If he knew it would be this easy, he would invite Harry to move into the office so he could play witness every day. Atlas, he couldn't, and as Matt's temporary fairy godmother, his new found calling... Well, called. With one last tug on his suit jacket, Foggy strolled towards Harry, hands held out at his side, an apologetic smile gracing his face.

"Ow, damn me and my sieve-like mind. I just remembered, I have to go to... Town and pick up... Loads of... Paper. For the... Printer? Yes, the printer. You can never have too much paper in a law firm. Don't fret Harry, Matt will show you the way to the Mexican take out, won't you Matt?"

This time Foggy swore black and blue he could see Matt squirm like a worm on a hook. Fucking gold! He really had scored today, god was looking down upon him and smiling, all was well in the world. When Matt spoke, stalling over his first word, Foggy wanted to sigh and giggle and take a photo like some sports mom on their kids first day at soccer practice.

"Yeah... Yeah of course. That is, if you still want to go."

Harry, bless her soul, smiled brightly, little rays of sunbeams lighting up the small office in her presence. Despite what she had walked in on, in her shoes Foggy would have run away like the place was on fire, she simply laughed spoke. Foggy didn't miss the way her eyes stayed on Matt, not straying from him once. Once again, Foggy asked himself how the hell he had missed it in the first place.

"Are you sure I'm not interrupting, what was it? A big macho law case?"

Matt opened his mouth but being the best wingman in Hells Kitchen it seemed, Foggy wasn't done having his fun or giving Matt the chance to fuck everything up.

"Nope. None at all. In fact, it's all sorted now. Matt has the whole day off. So, go on now!"

Foggy sidestepped to Matt, wrapping a hand around his prone friend's bicep, leaning back to pick up his scarf and hand it to him as he pushed and hustled him to the door, and subsequently a very amused looking Harry. Just as he passed the wall, on instinct that came from years of friendship, Foggy plucked up Matt's walking aid and handed it over, nearly laughing when the poor dazed man nearly dropped it. As they reached Harry, the woman in question raised one eyebrow high as she finally turned to face Foggy, dimple prominent as she prodded him and his lame excuse.

"But... I thought you have to go town, for paper?"

Foggy grinned wider at Harry's bewildered but teasing face, none too gently pushing them both out the door and marching the two to the entrance to the office. In all fairness, neither fought off the hand on their backs.

"Oh did I say go to town? I meant stay in the office and wait for the paper... Delivery. Now chop chop, go have fun!"

He finally let go to reach between them and swing the door open dramatically... Damn drama classes, and despite all his effort, he didn't really want them to go. He wanted to see, wanted to watch, wanted to wear that hat Steve Erwin did and have a little notebook as he wrote frantically like a nature documentarist. But, all good things come to an end, and who knew? If Matt actually manned up and got more than one word out, Harry would come back and he would have more fun at their expense. It was all in the waiting game. Foggy played for the long run, never the short.

"But-"

"No buts! Shoo! I have very important paper business to conduct!"

And then, seeing neither of them moving, Foggy huffed and rolled his eyes, roughly shoving both out the door when not one single foot was moved. Once the two had stumbled out, Foggy smiled brightly as they swiveled to face him, tauntingly waved... And slammed the door shut in their faces. Harry was the first to recover, landing on the only thing she could think of in face of what had just happened. Laughter. When her chuckles died down, she slowly turned to face the man that was still chuckling beside her, looking up at him.

"Is he always so..."

"Crazy?"

Harry shook her head, her grin widening so far it felt like it could split her cheek if stretched any further.

"I was going to say grandmotherly, but crazy seems to fit fine too."

They both laughed once more and the tension seemed to die a little, giving away to easy banter and a friendly atmosphere. Matt reached up and fixed the scarf hazardly thrown over his shoulder, having to try twice to get the knot right.

"Foggy has a... Complex mind. One I haven't figured the majority out off, and I've known him since Uni. Well, shall we? If you still want to that is, and not just get away from the pair of crazy lawyers..."

Matt fidgeted, his fingers tugging at a frayed thread of his scarf but then he felt Harry grab his hand and gently pull it away from the imminent destruction of his precious scarf. Just as she was about to let go of his hand and pull away, Matt turned his hand around, so it was palm to palm and interlocked his fingers against hers, capturing it in a soft prison. He didn't dare to take off his tinted glasses, even if he wished most to, but the least he could offer himself in consolation prize was the feel of her skin. And when Harry didn't pull away, his smile blazed back to glorious life. Harry's voice was husky and warm and everything in between he had missed as she spoke.

"You know what? I would love too."

And in true Matt style, around Harry at least, he floundered once more, wincing hard when he finished his rambling.

"Love! I mean... fantastic... I mean great... I should just give up."

Harry chuckled, the sound bouncing off the thin and frail hallway walls.

"I think Foggy isn't the only one with a complex mind."

Matt shrugged, but his hold on her hand tightened, his thumb slotting back into place at the skin of her wrist, once again stroking as he turned his back on the office door and began walking with Harry down the hallway to the elevator, the thump, thump, thump of his walking stick setting the tempo of their easy steps. Maybe... Just maybe, he should get Foggy a present that befits his service... He should be able to buy a Lamborghini within the next oh, fifty years. If he didn't die first that is.

"You have no Idea. Do you like rice drinks?"

"Actually yes, I do."

"Great, they do this awesome Horchata at the take-out. Cinnamon, almonds and some spice I can't name..."

As the two walked off, speaking quietly but excitedly between them, forms growing closer and closer, fitting together like two jigsaw pieces with each step, neither noticed the crack of Nelson and Murdock's office door creak open, one eye peeking out, watching, only for the door to quietly click shut as the two's voices and complementing forms disappeared from view as the elevator doors dinged shut. Foggy pulled away from the door, smile nearly splitting ear from ear.

"Ah, young love. Damn, I'm a good wingman. I call dibs on the name of their first-born. Michaelangelo Megatron Murdock has a ring to it."

* * *

 **Prompts filled this chapter:** Can we get some Foggy pov? With Foggy being entertained by how clumsy/dazed/twitter patted Matt becomes around Harry, but ultimately being willing to play wingman because he's never seen Matt like this before and he thinks it's good for him.

Can we see Matt maybe taking a shine to apples, as that's what led to Harry popping back up in this chapter? And when Foggy notices and asks after it he has a big 'oh no, really Matt? Really?' And just generally giving Matt a good natured bitching?

Foggy realizing that Harry isn't for him decides to give them a little nudge and sets Matt up on a 'blind date' and it's with Harry.

Harry owns a piece of property that is actively pursued by the kingpin or some other nefarious character. She's not giving it up. (Will become more prominent in later parts of the story, but the hint was there.)

 **NEXT CHAPTER:** We've had a Matt and Harry meeting... It's time for Harry to meet his alter ego, Daredevil...

 **A.N:** Thank you all so much for all the lovely reviews, they honestly warm my heart. I hope this chapter lived up to expectations and you all enjoyed it. And subsequently, the ones to come.

As before, drop a prompt for next chapter, or a chapter you want to see and I will try my best to add them all in! The more, the merrier, they really inspire me and make me want to continue this.

Please, if you have a spare moment, leave a review. It's nice to see and read how well, or badly, this is being taken.

Until next time, stay beautiful- **AlwaysEatTheRude21**


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